


As you watch the snow fall

by Silveriss



Series: When the frost is in bloom [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (Tags will be updated with each chapter), (rating might go up too who knows), Alternate Universe - Jack Frost, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Frost!Neil, M/M, Nature, Non-Chronological, POV Andrew Minyard, POV Neil Josten, Succession of vignettes, Unresolved Trauma, writer!Andrew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22335679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silveriss/pseuds/Silveriss
Summary: A succession of vignettes from Neil and Andrew's life before, during, and after the two previous installments of this AU.
Relationships: Andrew Minyard & Nicky Hemmick, Andrew Minyard & Renee Walker, Kevin Day & Andrew Minyard, Neil Josten & a Fox, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: When the frost is in bloom [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1311884
Comments: 63
Kudos: 130





	1. Frozen to the bones

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I can never get enough of this AU. I said I'd do it, but this first vignette was finished faster than I thought.
> 
> I would like to offer my eternal gratitude to everyone who's taken the time to read, leave kudos, and comment on this precious little AU of mine. It never fails to make my day, and it fueled me with the motivation to go on. I hope you will all enjoy this addition.
> 
> (I would recommend reading the first two parts of this series before getting into this one, since it is intended as a sequel/bonus/epilogue.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil faces unresolved trauma and finds comfort in the strangest of places.
> 
> (Set after Frost Bite)

There is something unsettled in the wind always. The wind doesn’t stop, doesn’t breathe, does not break. The wind is a moving force and it stops for no one. Not even Neil.

But sometimes the wind will wait. It doesn’t settle, exactly, but it slows, to a gentle current, just for a little while, more river than ocean. Neil listens for those short sighs of reprieve. He never asks for them. But they always happen when there is something for him to be done.

Most of the times there is a child. Not right here, never right here - but close. And they call to him, always. The distressed and the trapped, little souls like fireflies in the wind.

Neil saw fireflies once, real ones. He had been hiding behind a tree and the slow-falling night had arrived unnoticed. One moment he had his head tucked between his knees, a tiny child cloaked in darkness, and the next a little light was flickering beyond his closed eyelids. He had opened his eyes to see that the stars were falling down. One by one they had filled the space between the trees and they’d floated, like fairy lights, all around him. Neil remembers that the air had felt light and electric, each breath a surge of _something_ filling his lungs. He had felt so… airy, all of a sudden, and had been sure, _so sure_ that if he tried, he, like all the lights, would fly and shine like he used to in his dreams. But this was not a dream, and when Mary had come back Neil hadn’t so much as moved a toe.

It’s different now. Mary is gone and so is he, one of them taken by fire and the other through ice. Neil flies with the wind that stops for fireflies, and though his mother’s voice used to fly alongside him it doesn’t anymore. She has gone a second time. All Neil feels about this is relief.

Relief, like hope, is dangerous.

It hides things.

Covers them with a blanket of light so bright you would never think of trying to look beyond.

Not until you’re forced to.

* * *

Neil has been flying uninterrupted over Sweden for a day when it happens. The wind slows down, and at first Neil listens for the call. The song of helplessness and pain, blinking in the darkness, beaconing him closer. But there is nothing.

Neil waits for the wind to pick him up again. It does not.

_There is something for you here,_ it whispers.

Neil floats down, freezing the layer of fresh snow he lands on. This is -

There is something calling him here, but it is not a song. Not a light. It’s -

It’s a creek, the Baltic sea dozing off beyond a wall of pines, and there is a bed of pebbles leading to the water beneath the snow. Thorn bushes and wild berries lie dormant by the trees, moss blanketing the ground at their feet. Everything here is green in the spring and alive. The sea laps at the bed of pebbles, rolling them over in its waves, ever peaceful. Neil knows this -

The sea is frozen now. There is no movement by the creek. Imprints of animals speckle the snow, telling stories of life in the stillness. There is no one here but -

Neil walks to the shore. His feet do not break the snow, yet still the cold creeps up. Neil’s blood is already frozen but his heart still stops. His bones rattle and crack like porcelain beneath his skin, which feels like glass. If Neil looked down, he's sure that he'd be able to see the veins and muscles of his right hand clutched around his staff, pulsing blue light into the wood.

Neil stops where the snow-covered ground leaves place to snow-covered ice. There is barely any movement in the water trapped by the cold but it is liquid still. Neil steps upon the sea and plants his staff into the ice.

Everything freezes.

There - rusted, frozen, encased - is metal. The car -

The car is empty. The seats are burned.

The ice around it tastes like blood and burning flesh.

Neil finds no trace of ash in the sea. He releases the water.

The wind hauls him to Iceland.

* * *

Neil floats, carried. The wind cradles him into the sky like a fragile little thing. He is bringing the snow still, but he does not care where. Clouds, white and all-encompassing, are all the matter that he sees. There is nothing else but blue.

Blue, like the flesh under his skin. Blue like the flowers in the spring. Blue, like his father’s eyes.

Blue like the hottest part of the flame that had devoured his mother and left nothing but steel.

Neil doesn’t understand the hollow in his chest. He thinks he might have punched it, or the wind, as he was standing there above the car. He thinks something might have reached through his flesh, through his breakable-as-glass bones, and torn a chunk of pain and blood. He thinks his father got him, in the end, deeper than the ice could reach.

Neil is alone. Has been alone. For a really, really long time.

Is he hollow for his mother, or himself? His father? His childhood, broken and bloody and splintered?

The shape of the hollow is odd. It moves and expands, shifts through his body like a plant. A growing wound.

Its edges are torn, frozen, and cold. And the wind cradles him. But it’s the thoughts that hurt, not the movements, and for the first time in his life, Neil is too shell-shocked to stop thinking.

So he floats. And he hurts. And the wind cradles him.

* * *

Neil notices when the wind starts to bring him down, but it’s a near thing. He is surprised, distantly, that he still weighs anything at all. The hollow has eaten him alive, cell by cell, leaving nothing alone but his skin. He is a shell of ice, paper-thin and breakable. He hasn’t moved in days.

The wind lowers him to the ground slowly. He lands on a blanket of snow, and tries to sleep. Slumber will not take him, but he can’t move, so here he stays. His eyelids have eroded enough that they’re see-through. He watches the birds fly, the pine trees wave. The sky above is so blue that it burns.

Everything is white and blue.

The world.

Time.

Neil.

* * *

  
  
A snowflake

falls

on the ground

and

Neil

watches

.

* * *

_You need to get up._

There are no flowers here.

_You need to get up!_

Not anymore.

_Listen to me!_

There will be flowers later. When Neil will be long gone.

_You need to get up! Do you hear me?_

He will never see flowers again.

_Abram!_

Even if he did, there would be no tomb to put them on.

_ABRAM!_

She is gone.

And there is no trace left of her.

_Get up._

Not even ash.

_Get up._

Nothing.

_Please._

_You have got to get up._

* * *

It isn’t the voice that wakes him up.

It’s the warmth. Slow and deliberate.

He is still there, after all. He was so sure he wouldn’t be.

The warmth moves. It feels wet. It breathes. Whines.

Neil opens his eyes.

The fox has orange eyes like amber stones. It sits with its front paws tucked close and its tail warped around its body. Its fur is white white white like the world, but its muzzle is black and the eyes are amber stones pierced with cave-like pupils. The fox tilts its triangular head, rustles its ears. The sun kisses its fur, which does not melt. Life is already warm.

Everything else is cold, most of all Neil. But the warmth calls to him.

He raises a hand. Slow and careful. Open palm. Just like with King. The fox looks at the hand and tenses. Its ears stiffen, alarmed.

Neil stills.

The fox listens.

Neil lowers his hand back to the ground. His eyes have fluttered nearly shut again when warmth suddenly surges back to him.

The fox has sniffed his hand. Its posture has relaxed. Neil keeps still, and the fox licks his hand, once. Twice. Neil huffs out a small breath.

The fox’s ears perk up again, but this time the fox steps close. It breathes against Neil’s face, and licks Neil’s cheek, once, twice, this time up to the corner of Neil’s eye. Something cold falls off; a crystal. Drops of ice pepper Neil’s exposed skin like the freckles he used to have during summer. The fox chases them off of him with diligence, making Neil huff again.

Every swipe of its tongue, every inch of contact with its soft, soft fur, sends ripples of warmth through Neil’s skin. When the fox starts licking at his hair, Neil sits up and laughs. It startles the fox a little, so Neil coaxes it closer with his hand again. It doesn’t take as long this time, and soon enough Neil has his arms full of fur. The fox props itself up with its front paws against Neil’s chest, and opens its mouth up wide, displaying sharp teeth. Neil almost jumps back, but the fox doesn’t seem interested in biting. It stays in that position for a beat longer instead, eyes closed and tail curled horizontally, with its ears to the sides. It does bite then, but only the air, and then the fox jumps back.

It comes back almost immediately, pouncing and landing next to Neil’s side with its mouth open. It puts its mouth around Neil’s arm without biting then jumps back, ears still pushed to the sides. When it comes back again, Neil tries grabbing at it, and ends up toppling backwards into the snow as the fox twists and scratches lightly, mouth agape. Neil pushes the fox off of him and watches it roll away only to come bouncing back the moment it’s back on its feet. Neil laughs this time as they grapple, and the fox yaps like it’s trying to copy the sound, somehow. They roll apart in the snow then chase each other around the small clearing, flailing and thrashing about with abandon. By the time they’re done Neil’s pretty sure he’s got snow shoved in all of his clothes, yet he feels warm. _Really_ warm. The kind of warmth that lasts.

They’re both panting heavily, though Neil significantly more than the fox, and are lying on the ground, with the fox’s flank pressed to Neil’s side. Eventually the fox lowers its head on its front paws and its tail upon Neil’s leg. The world is a clearing.

They stay like that for a while.

By the time the fox starts to stir, nightfall has come and gone and the sky is no longer burning. Neil sits up slowly. The fox steps forward and sniffs at him, its snout wet against Neil’s skin. Neil brings a hand up to the fox’s fur and strokes, just a few times. And then it’s done.

The fox steps back, turns, and walks out of the clearing.

As soon as it disappears, the wind picks up.

Neil flies off with a smile and a ribcage full of warmth.

* * *

“I made a friend,” he tells Andrew the night he’s come back.

“Congratulations. I’m not adopting another cat.”

“It was a fox,” Neil says, and grins when Andrew’s façade crumbles slightly with surprise. He’s been chasing those moments with increasing success, lately.

Andrew looks away with a light scoff at his grin. “I bet it was an arctic one, too.”

Neil hums, smiling still. “White as a cloud.”

“Such a cliché.”

“You’re the one who turned me into a book character.”

“Shut up,” Andrew grumbles, and ignores the way Neil laughs into the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for reading! It means a lot.
> 
> I have no idea when the next vignette's gonna be, but in the meantime feel free to suggest whatever scene you'd like to see, because I might get inspired.
> 
> If you leave me kudos and/or comments, I will love you forever.


	2. Snowdrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trials and tribulations of editing Der Albtraumprinz, featuring Andrew, Renee, Kevin, and Wymack.
> 
> (Set during Frost Bite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read I'll Give You the Sun in one night, slept from 6am to noon, and wrote this. So you can thank Jandy Nelson for getting the second vignette so soon, I guess.
> 
> [See the end notes for the German translations.]

_The world is right again, Mia thinks._

_There’s only one thing left to do, Issa thinks._

_“Will you visit?” he asks Alberich, not saying please._

_The Prince of Nightmares smiles._

_“Always.”_

_And the wind blows. And he takes Issa’s hand. And the world is right._

* * *

Renee puts her bag on the table and sits across from him, smiling. Andrew’s already ordered for her, that smoked tea she always drinks when she wants to focus. His own drink is nearly finished, a coffee he didn’t taste as much as breathe. It burned all the way down.

“Thank you,” Renee says, taking a sip out of her cup. It clinks when she puts it down on the saucer, a light, clear sound that makes Andrew think of snow, of all things. Under his fingernail an itch suddenly calls for smoke. He makes tight fists until it’s gone.

Renee pulls a thick envelope out of her bag and sets it on the table where her bag was. Out of it comes paper, a stack of it. White like snow but stained with black, all over it. Touches of blue, he knows, sprinkle the heap, a very light blue, like the sky on winter sunny days, because Renee doesn’t like to write in red.

 _(It’s a little too harsh,_ she told him once. _And I’m not a school teacher._ _I don’t write corrections. Just suggestions.)_

Andrew gulps the last of his coffee, grimacing the bitter blackness down. Renee’s eyebrows make a little jump up and she looks amused at the gesture for a second. Then she looks down at the snowdrift sitting on the table covered in black and blue, and it begins.

“I really liked it, Andrew,” is the first thing she says. She always starts with a general statement. Then she thanks him. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”

Andrew shrugs, jumps his leg under the table a few times, brings his hand down upon his knee to stop.

Renee takes a sip of tea. Her face opens, happy and honest, enthused. “I’ve always loved your stories, but I think you’ve got something special with this one. It feels… truer. It’d already started with _Winter,_ but - something went further with this one. It’s the rawest I’ve ever seen you write, Andrew.” She says this and fixes her gaze on him. “I don’t know why, or how, but I think you’ve really found yourself with this story.”

Andrew stares her down, stone-like. If he moved, if he spoke, he would shatter. He’s sure of it.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling, “but it needed to be said.” She brings the cup to her lips and drinks, and when the cup is down she pulls _Der Albtraumprinz_ closer. Somehow, Andrew too feels like he was just moved. “Ready?” she asks with both hands flattened upon the first page.

Andrew clenches and unclenches his hands, and blows a breath to lift the fog inside his head.

“Go for it.”

Renee does a detailed run-down of it. Every scene that works, every scene that doesn’t. The little things and the bigger things. What could go, and what needs more. Andrew has been deconstructed into pieces by the time she’s done, or peeled and peeled into hollows. Either way the wind rattles him raw, scrapes his skin off until everything that’s left of him is in shambles.

 _Words,_ he thinks. _Words words words words. I need them now._

He gets his notepad out and starts to write.

* * *

_The world is right again, Mia thinks._

_The world has changed again, Issa thinks._

_The sword in Mia’s hand glows white. Issa doesn’t notice, because he’s turned to the Albtraumprinz._

_“Will you visit?” he asks, not saying please._

_Alberich smiles._

_“Always.”_

_And he takes Issa’s hand. And the wind blows. And the world is right._

* * *

Andrew drags a deep cloud into his lungs and feels himself fill up. The smoke floats out through every pore until it’s joined the sky above, where the wind flares.

“I’m not saying it’s _bad,_ Andrew,” Kevin is saying back down on earth. “In fact, I think it’s really good. Renee’s right when she says it’s the best you’ve ever written - but, Andrew, you can’t - that’s exactly why you _can’t._ Think about your target demographic. _You’ll lose readers.”_

Kevin rakes a shaking hand through his hair. His hands haven’t stopped moving since he started talking, like flies, like birds, and his face is a storm he’s trying desperately, and failing, to keep bottled.

 _“Think about it,_ Andrew,” he pleads, green eyes like river sludge. “You’ve built yourself a readership, a _name._ This is madness. You could ruin it all and for what? It’s a kid’s book!” He throws both hands into the air like it’s the be-all end-all of arguments, then brings them back down to his head. “Don’t be _stupid.”_

Andrew turns around in his chair and stubs his cigarette out into the ashtray, shutting Kevin up with his gaze. “Are you done?”

Kevin opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. _“Der Albtraumprinz_ could be a bestseller, Andrew. This is an unnecessary risk.”

“Art is always a risk,” Andrew drones out, voice flat. “I don’t write to sell.”

“I know that -”

“No, you don’t,” Andrew cuts in. “You’re too covered in your own shit to see it. Just because you’re too scared of the monster in your own closet doesn’t mean everyone has to be.”

Kevin makes a face like he’s been slapped. His hands drop to his lap like flies. “What -” he stammers, then thinks better of it. He looks so pale Andrew’s almost tempted to feel sorry for him. 

Almost.

“You can hide all your life for all I care,” Andrew hammers down, not letting Kevin look away. “But either you get over your self-pitying paranoia, or you’re not reading a single one of my manuscripts ever again.”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. Then he gets up, and leaves a frozen Kevin to stare at the wall in his beige hotel room. Maybe the cold air rushing in through the open window will help him gather his one-track junkie brain, or maybe it’ll give him pneumonia. Andrew wishes for the latter.

* * *

_The world is right again, Mia thinks._

_The world has changed again, Issa thinks._

_The sword in Mia’s hand glows white. Issa doesn’t notice; the Albtraumprinz is smiling and it’s all he can see._

_“Will you visit?” he asks, and forgets to say please because his chest is about to burst. “Will I?”_

_Alberich smiles._

_“Always.”_

_And he takes Issa’s hand. And the wind blows. Everything slots into place._

* * *

Wymack drops the stack of paper on his desk and sits down across from him. He tidies a few things off his desk then sits back, hands crossed over his chest. Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“Renee was right. This is your best work yet.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Wymack huffs. “You know, Minyard, what I really love about you is your modesty. Really refreshing.” He claps the manuscript on the back. “Anyway, _Der Albtraumprinz’s_ approved. I got the cover a couple days ago, so you should get the first test copies soon. You’ll be on the shelves on the sixteenth of December like we’d planned, so hopefully you’ll sell well for Christmas.”

“Good to know.”

“If there’s any last minute change you want to make, it’s now. Tomorrow will be too late.”

Andrew nods. “There is one,” he says.

“Let’s see it then.”

Andrew digs a folded piece of paper out of his jacket’s pocket and puts it on Wymack’s desk. When Wymack unfolds it, he frowns.

“A dedication?”

“Yes,” Andrew says.

Wymack looks skeptical, but he grabs a red pen and stamps a sticky note over the page, quickly scribbling a few instructions over it.

“I’m not going to ask,” he says with finality, “but others will.”

“I don’t care.”

Wymack sighs. “I don’t doubt that. Anything else?” he asks, clapping the manuscript again, then putting it away when Andrew shakes his head. “Alright. Now that that’s done, let’s talk sequel. Are you continuing this or not? It doesn’t have to be official just yet, but I’d like to have an idea. Seems to me like you’ve got room to explore.”

Andrew twitches. 

_The sword in Mia’s hand glows white._

“I’m continuing it.”

* * *

**[From: Kevin]** They have new pieces at the Landesmuseum Württemberg.

 **[From: Kevin]** I’m going tomorrow.

 **[To: Kevin]** why should I care

 **[From: Kevin]** Come with me?

 **[To: Kevin]** no.

 **[From: Kevin]** I’m flying back the day after.

 **[To: Kevin]** good.

 **[From: Kevin]** They’re doing something around myths and legends for Christmas.

 **[From: Kevin]** I’ll pay for your ticket.

 **[From: Kevin]** You were right. I overreacted. I apologize.

 **[To: Kevin]** what time

 **[From: Kevin]** 2PM? I’ll meet you at your place.

 **[To: Kevin]** you mean 14 Uhr, du Ami

 **[From: Kevin]** You know, if you’re capitalizing words in the middle of a sentence, you might as well capitalize the first letter.

 **[To: Kevin]** no thx

 **[From: Kevin]** You disgust me.

 **[To: Kevin]** heul doch

 **[From: Kevin]** See you tomorrow, Andrew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! I hope you liked reading this vignette as much as I liked writing it. One day I'll write a chat/text fic.
> 
> I have no posting schedule still, so I can't tell you when the next vignette will be there, but please leave kudos and comments if you want more of this! It's great motivation fuel. Suggestions for what I should write about next are also very much welcome!
> 
> [German Translations]  
> \- "Der Albtraumprinz" : The Prince of Nightmares  
> \- "Landesmuseum Württemberg" : the regional museum of Württemberg  
> \- "14 Uhr" : 14h, aka 2pm  
> \- "du Ami" : you yankee  
> \- heul doch : cry me a river  
> (If you notice any mistake with the German, please tell me! I'm not a native.)


	3. Ice Rabbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky (finally) gets to meet his cousin's mysterious boyfriend. It doesn't go exactly as he'd expect.
> 
> (Set after Frost Bite, somewhere in the same winter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while, uh! I think the RBB took a lot more out of me than I expected, to be honest - not to mention the past and current state of things in the world.
> 
> Hopefully this little bit of fluff will help take your mind off things. It's longer than the previous ones, and I went all out on the domestic fluff - because apparently that's what I want to write lately.
> 
> This chapter is for everyone who asked whether Neil would eventually meet the other Foxes/be seen by other people, and for every single comment and kudos making my days that much brighter! You're all pretty great people.
> 
> (TW: mention of self-harm scars)

Pale sunlight bounces off the snow piled up on the balcony and inundates the room. Neil has left the window clear of frost today, content to absorb the unfiltered morning rays with his eyes closed.

“If you were a cat, you would purr,” comes Andrew’s voice from just below his neck.

Neil trails lazy fingers through the layers of Andrew’s curls and smiles. “So would you.”

A noncommittal grunt answers him. Neil lowers his fingers to scratch at the back of Andrew’s neck, and turns it into a sigh. Andrew’s eyes flutter shut as he leans into Neil’s chest, and the hand that was holding up his book drops upon the couch.

He’s sitting curled up in Neil’s lap, with his feet up on the cushion and his back to the armrest, Neil’s right arm draped across his middle. They’ve been dozing in the living room since the scent of warm coffee coaxed Andrew out of bed. Finding a good position took a few minutes, but Neil would be lying if he said it wasn’t worth it.

He presses his fingertips to the sides of Andrew’s nape, and massages a low hum out of him. “You’re tense,” he notes. He lifts his free hand up to pick the glasses off Andrew’s nose as he keeps massaging the knots out of his neck, startling Andrew’s eyes open.

A sigh. “People have been asking about you.”

“Oh,” Neil says, and puts the glasses down by Andrew’s feet. There’s a smile dancing on his lips. “You told them about me?”

The idea sparks tiny fireworks in his chest. Somehow, it never occurred to him that he’d get to be a part of Andrew’s life even when he’s away. 

“They think you work abroad,” Andrew says matter-of-factly, dismissing the implications of people knowing about Neil with a wave of his hand, like it’s nothing.

He knows better than that, though. The steady weight of his gaze holds Neil for long seconds, unwavering. And Neil watches back. He sees the carefully guarded hope cradled in the crook of a palm, and so he holds Andrew’s hand in his own and smiles.

_ I’m real,  _ he thinks, meaning to speak.

_ Real, real, real,  _ his magic sings beneath his skin.

“What did you tell them we were?” he asks, grinning wildly now.

“Involved,” Andrew answers.

Neil thinks his ribcage might explode. He kind of wants it to. Instead he hums, and squeezes Andrew’s hand in his. “Is that what we are?”

Andrew lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.

Neil doesn’t think he’s ever felt this stupidly happy in his life. He starts massaging the back of Andrew’s neck again, amazed as he always is to feel the dense mass of Andrew’s body slowly mellow under his touch. There is another hum, and then the sound of a book falling shut.

“When you say people…” Neil trails off.

Andrew opens his eyes with a sigh. “Mostly Nicky. He’s been - nagging.”

“I thought that was his default?” he asks, a little distracted as he works his way up the occipital bone, extending the massage to Andrew’s scalp.

He feels a slight dip in the couch cushions as Sir joins them, snuggling her round little body between them, half on Neil’s lap and half on Andrew’s stomach. She starts purring almost immediately. The rumble only intensifies as Andrew starts scratching slowly behind her ears.

“He wants to meet you,” he tells the cat.

Neil’s hand freezes in Andrew’s hair.

If he had a heartbeat, it would have stuttered in his chest. It’s the magic, instead, that trips - a wild, electrifying surge of ice. It courses quickly through his veins, seeking an outlet, so he directs it at the window by reflex. The whole pane frosts over, and then some.

Andrew raises both eyebrows at him.

Neil just smiles.

He huffs, a little aggravated laugh, and drops his gaze upon the cat. Neil goes back to rubbing tiny circles into his scalp, but his ribcage feels tight.

“How would I meet him?”

Andrew looks up, then down again as Sir headbutts his hand for more petting. “You don’t have to decide now.”

“I know,” Neil assures him. “But I’m curious.”

Another small huff. He leans back against the armrest, so Neil lets his hand drop. “People see you when they believe in you. We’d just have to give him proof.”

“You want me to magic him into believing in me,” Neil guesses.

“Something like that.” Andrew shrugs.

Neil blows a magic-infused breath at the window from just over Andrew’s head, and the frost withdraws its petals from the glass in one swift motion. He contemplates the snow-covered city beyond and says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Neil looks away from the window and nods. “Sure,” he says, smiling. “I’m not the one who’s going to look stupid if it doesn’t work.”

He earns a poke in the ribs for that. It only makes him grin wider.

* * *

Convincing Nicky to come over is the easiest part. He’s surprised, at first, that Andrew would be the one to invite him, instead of having to ask (and ask, and ask, until Andrew is finally in the adequate disposition to say yes), but elation quickly takes over.

“You didn’t tell him why he’s coming over,” Neil remarks when Andrew’s hung up.

“I’m not leaving him a whole week to come up with annoying questions,” he says.

Neil just laughs.

It happens a week later.

It’s a Sunday, which means Nicky’s not working. On the phone, Andrew agreed to lunch. Nicky would buy the groceries, and he’d cook.

They wake up late. They set up an alarm around 11am just in case, and barely emerge just in time to avoid the blaring ringtone. Last winter, they’d had no use for alarms. Neil was always awake bright and early with the first rays of sun. But this year, sleep has a better hold over him; not that he really has a need for it, but - he likes the warmth. He’s still always the first one to wake up, but it happens slowly now. The blanket draped over them is heavier, the pillows inviting, and Andrew’s presence a comfort he’s loath to leave. Getting out of bed before him is starting to feel more and more like stepping away from a fire, each step colder than the last.

Which is why on Sunday, when Neil wakes up, he isn’t really surprised to see that it’s already a few minutes past 10. Light slants through the shutters and pools at their feet. Andrew is turned towards him, face slack and soft in the dimness and crowned with his usual morning mess of curls. His left hand has disappeared under Neil’s pillow, but the other one lies slightly curled between them.

Something vast washes over Neil as he stares. It feels important, this moment. Everything about it.

The curve of Andrew’s fingers. The orientation of the hairs in his eyebrows. The slight bump of his collarbone peeking out of the oversized shirt.

It says something. Not in of itself, but in the resonance it finds in Neil’s chest.

It’s important. It might be the most important thing in the world.

Neil threads his fingers with the ones lying lax underneath his pillow. A sigh seeps out of somewhere deep within him, and the air brushes against a few stray strands of blond hair.

When Andrew opens his eyes, the movement of his eyelashes is slow. Neil follows every single one and he would count them, too, if his ribcage didn’t feel so tight. He could freeze over the whole wide world right now, if he wanted to.

He doesn’t. He drags their intertwined hands to his mouth instead, and brushes a kiss over the back of Andrew’s.

Andrew brings his other hand to the back of Neil’s neck and shifts closer, pulls Neil in with eyes like molten gold.

It’s a lazy kiss, sleep-soft and lingering, all sluggish lips and morning breaths.

When they emerge from it, Neil’s hair is well and truly mussed. In-between them lie their hands and Andrew’s bare forearm, the flesh grooved and carved by wounds deeper than their scars.

“Can I?”

Andrew nods. Neil carefully pulls his fingers free and drags them down the curve of Andrew’s palm. He brushes along the faint lines of the veins tucked on the inside of the wrist, follows a slight dip between two tendons, and reaches the first ridge. It feels different against his fingertips, the skin smooth and stretched out of its usual elasticity. Strange, that it should not feel jagged. Strange, that the edge of the blade should not leave sharper marks upon the flesh. The skin rises and drops like valleys, like a secret language born out of pain and healing, control and the will to go on, even then. It’s a testament to both Andrew’s weakness and his strength.

Neil goes on past the scars to the elbow, covering Andrew’s forearm with his own. The hand at the back of his neck clenches lightly. Neil leans forward and presses a kiss to the top of Andrew’s brow - the center of the cheek - the edge of the jaw. Andrew hums and steers him in the direction of his mouth, and they both sigh into the kiss.

By the time they get out of bed, they only have a couple minutes left before the alarm is set to ring. Andrew turns it off before it has a chance.

* * *

Nicky shows up right on time.

He’s holding two bags full of groceries, and he’s got snowflakes clinging to his knitted cap. His smile is blinding.

“Hello Andrew! How’s my favorite cousin in all the world?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and steps aside to let Nicky in, taking the bags from him to carry them into the kitchen. “Take off your shoes.”

“What do you think I am, an animal?” Nicky calls after him.

Andrew doesn’t answer. He puts the bags on the counter and starts unloading them. He’s pleased to see the two tubs of brownie ice cream, which he quickly puts into the freezer before they start melting. Not that the temperature outside would have endangered the goods, but one can never be too careful.

A gust of ice, and Neil’s voice comes tickling his ear.

“Isn’t it a little cold for ice cream?”

“Not in here,” Andrew says, and pushes the fridge’s door shut. Neil is sitting on top of the counter, mouth curved in an easy smile and white hair crowned with silver light. 

Behind Neil, Andrew can hear Nicky making his way into the living room. He busies himself with serving the coffee he readied earlier, then brings a cup to his cousin. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Neil swivel in his seat to face them.

“Thank you!” Nicky beams, curling his hands around the cup. “It’s so fucking cold outside. I swear winter lasts longer every year. Anyway, how have you been?”

“Good,” Andrew answers, already bored of the small talk. “Do you know what my last two books have been about?”

“Sure. They’re your best ones,” Nicky says as he pretends not to snoop around the bookcases.

“You read them.”

“Well, of course. I’ve read all your books,” Nicky says offhandedly, then crouches to pet King.

Andrew very carefully does not react.

Nicky doesn’t read much. He’ll pick up a few queer romances, non-fictions about whatever subject has caught his fancy, psychology material for his work. But that’s it. He doesn’t like fantasy, and he’s far older than the target demographics of Andrew’s books.

Strange, how it’s the little things that still surprise him the most.

Strange, how Andrew knows that Nicky taught him everything he knows about love, and yet he can still be caught unaware when his cousin shows him exactly that. Perhaps it’s the noise and the stubbornness that makes him forget, sometimes, the image Nicky bent over parenting books at night, pushing all three of them through therapy with what money he could save, the hours upon hours spent helping them learn the specificities of a whole new language and a whole new country.

Without him, neither Andrew nor Aaron would have made it past 20 - let alone college.

He snaps out of his thoughts as Nicky brushes past him towards the couch. His eyes follow, and then automatically land on Neil, who’s still balanced on the counter. He’s looking at him with one of those aggravating smirks etched upon his face.

“Is that a new mug?” Nicky’s voice calls. He’s pointing at one of the two empty mugs that they forgot to put away yesterday. It has a bright orange fox on the front, and tiny pawprints curling all around it.

“No.” It isn’t. Andrew’s just never used it himself.

Nicky is looking at him like he expects an explanation, so Andrew just stares until he gets the message. Somewhere to his left, Neil snickers.

Andrew grabs both mugs off his desk and takes them to the sink, making sure to bump into Neil’s leg on his way to the kitchen. While he’s there, he fills the cats’ water bowls to the brim and puts a few stray items away where they belong. Neil’s gaze doesn’t leave him the entire time.

“Staring,” he mutters, and closes a cabinet.

“You’re stalling,” Neil retorts.

“Did you say something?” Nicky asks from where he’s sitting upon the couch.

“Just talking to the cats.”

He lets out a breath, and glares at Neil. He gets a grin in return, but there’s a tension in the way Neil holds himself that mirrors the one Andrew’s been feeling since Nicky rang, so Andrew flicks his forehead. Neil retaliates by pinching his arm, and Andrew’s about to poke him in the ribs when Nicky walks into the kitchen.

“Andrew? Everything alright?”

“Yes,” Andrew huffs. Neil’s grinning like he’s just won the fight, and Andrew wants nothing more than to eat the smugness directly off his face.

But Nicky’s looking at him quizzically, so he opts for going back into the living room instead. Nicky looks like he might want to ask if Andrew’s okay again but he follows, and when Andrew gestures at him to sit on the couch he complies without question.

“I called you for a reason.”

“Aw, and here I thought you just wanted some quality family time,” Nicky jokes.

“Isa Holle is real,” Andrew says.

As predicted, Nicky’s mouth falls shut. Then a grin takes over his face. “I knew it!” he crowds. Andrew very much doubts that he does. “He’s inspired by that mysterious boyfriend of yours, isn’t he?” he goes on, then gasps. “Is he here right now? Am I going to meet him?”

“Nicky.”

“You weren’t lying when you said he’d be excited,” Neil comments.

Andrew ignores him. “Yes,” he tells Nicky, and immediately raises a hand to shut him up. “He’s in the room right now.”

Nicky’s smile falters. “What?”

“He’s here,” Andrew repeats, and points at Neil. “Right by the desk. And he’s going to frost my window.”

Neil does. Nicky gasps.

Then Neil presses his hand flat against the glass, and the whole sheet of ice comes to life.

Flowers bloom. Cats run wild among them, morphing into mice mid-jump and then growing into trees, a whole forest of them, realistic at first then abstract, shapes and patterns without sense. They come together slowly, merging into a single round shape with two long ears.

The rabbit jumps out of the window. A spatter of snowflakes trail after it as it bounces in the air, then floats down to the floor and trots up to a gaping Nicky. The rabbit presses its head against Nicky’ shin and instantly dissolves out of existence, leaving only a breath of fluttering snow in its place.

Neil’s hand hasn’t left the window. He’s grinning.

“Show off,” Andrew says.

Neil flips him the bird.

Nicky looks at Andrew, and then back to the window where Neil’s hand is. He squeezes his eyes shut then opens them again, several times in a row.

And then his eyes snap right upon Neil’s face.

Neil flinches.

“Holy shit,” Nicky breathes. “Holy fucking shit.”

Neil turns towards Andrew with his grin back in place. “See? This is how normal people react.”

“You weren’t as flashy when we met. And I had time to wrap my head around it.”

“True,” Neil concedes. “But this is way more fun.”

“Not for him.”

Neil’s attention drifts back to Nicky, who’s still too shell-shocked to move. He’s gaping at Neil like - well, like Andrew just pulled him out of a book, which isn’t that far from the truth.

“Hi,” Neil says. He steps away from the window, and the frost melts away in the blink of an eye. “I’m Neil. Andrew’s boyfriend.” He extends his hand. Nicky stares at it like it might bite him. “Also a winter spirit.”

Nicky reaches forward slowly, eyes fixed where his and Neil’s hands meet. Neil’s smile is blinding at the contact.

“This is real,” Nicky mutters, looking up at Neil’s face. “You are really real.”

“I am.”

“Did you come out of Andrew’s book?” Nicky blurts out.

Neil’s eyes widen for a split second, and then he’s laughing, head back and free, loud gasps of cold air popping out of his throat. The day Andrew gets used to the sight, he’ll probably be dead. Neil’s laughter quietens down too quickly, but his face is still radiant when he exchanges a look with Andrew.

“Other way around. I came out of a lake, actually.”

Nicky gapes. “Wh - a lake?”

“Long story.” The tone is light, but subtly dismissive. Nicky’s mouth shuts close with an audible click, but it’s only a matter of time before the questions start pouring out. Andrew, reluctantly, steps in.

“Nicky.” His cousin’s attention fixes on him, more out of reflex than anything else. He looks stunned - understandably so. “Come help me make Spätzle,” Andrew orders.

Nicky steals a glance in Neil’s direction, then nods.

The key, Andrew assumes, is to keep his cousin too busy to talk. Let the questions simmer down. Let him process the crack in his reality. Nicky has always had a tendency to spill his thoughts before they’re fully formed, but he’s grown past the overly cheery teenager with too many shame-drenched blades in his own flanks to notice where others might hide theirs. A small nod in Neil’s direction is enough to keep him out of the kitchen - Nicky doesn’t need a physical reminder of what’s already wreaking havoc in his mind.

There is no thinking needed to make Spätzle dough. It’s an activity they have practiced many times before, just like this - a whisk, eggs, flour, milk and salt, and the automatisms of two people used to operate in the same space. Andrew had intended to take care of the meal all by himself, originally, but Nicky needs the familiar, mindless gestures more than he does right now. There’s the chicken to take care of, anyway - leftovers from a past meal to reheat while he sautés mushrooms with onions, some garlic and a generous splash of cream. 

There’s no need for Nicky to keep whisking for as long as it takes Andrew to be done with the sauce, but he doesn’t comment on it. He pulls the Spätzle maker out of a drawer and slams it down on the counter once the pot of water is boiling. Nicky startles, and smiles, settling the tool over the pot and pouring in the dough slowly, with the kind of pointed focus he really doesn’t need for the task.

The cats choose this moment to rub against Andrew’s leg and whine for their reserved pieces of chicken. Andrew pushes them away with his foot and a grunt.

“Watch the sauce,” he tells Nicky, then grabs the tupperware where he left a couple pieces of meat and walks over to the cats’ bowls, over on the other side of the L-shaped counter that separates the living room from the kitchen.

Neil is sitting cross-legged on his desk, and he raises a tentative look when he notices Andrew stepping out. He’s smiling, but he looks unsure, one hand playing with the hem of his hoodie in that lost kid way of his.

“Come set the table.” Andrew gestures towards the kitchen with his chin. “It’s almost ready.”

Neil’s face lights up. He jumps off the table gracefully, propping his staff against a bookshelf on his way to the kitchen.

Andrew wants desperately to follow, to supervise - to make sure that Nicky won’t freak out, or that neither one of them will say something stupid - but he forces himself to remain in the living room instead. Pulls his desk away from the window and into the center of the room. Removes his laptop to make room for the plates and the cutlery. Brings over the two additional chairs he keeps folded by the balcony door.

By the time he’s done, Neil is emerging from the kitchen with plates, cutlery and glasses (magically) balanced in his arms, and Nicky follows carrying the pan, where the Spätzle joined the chicken in its sauce.

“It’s been a while since we’ve done this,” Nicky comments as he sets the pan down in the middle of the table. “Last time you invited me over, I think it was last Spring. I made asparagus.”

The last sentence is directed at Neil. Andrew grabs the big wooden spoon and helps himself to a portion of Spätzle, handing the spoon over to Neil when he’s done.

“I haven’t had asparagus in forever,” Neil tells Nicky, a flutter of hesitation in his eyes as he passes him the spoon. The next sentence he says too casually, carefully eyeing Nicky as he speaks. “They don’t grow well in the snow.”

The Spätzle are good. The chicken’s a little dry, but that’s what happens when you reheat leftovers.

Nicky swallows his first bite of food and sets his gaze upon Neil.

“About that,” he starts, quickly glancing at Andrew before going back to Neil, “I have a few questions.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” Neil shrugs. He doesn’t look uncomfortable - just slightly apprehensive.

“What else can you do? Besides ice rabbits?”

Neil grins, that little bit of tension simmering down as he lists the extent of his powers. Satisfied, Andrew shits his focus back to his meal.

As it turns out, Nicky has a fair bit more than ‘a few’ questions. Whether by intent or not, however, he leaves the more personal parts of Neil’s story untouched. Neil answers everything dutifully, most of the time amused, if not puzzled, by the things Nicky’s curious about.

(What does he do in the summer? Sleep. Like a reverse hibernation? Kind of. What does he think of Isa Holle? They’re good books. Not very truthful, though. Can other people see him? Yes, but only those who already believe that he exists. Does he pull tricks on people? Sometimes. Was he there when Nicky visited before? A few times. Does he need to eat? No, but he likes it. Are there others like him? Yes. Has he met them? No. When did he meet Andrew? Three years ago.)

And so on, until their plates are empty and one and a half tubs of brownie ice cream have been consumed. (Neil only had one spoonful. He’s not interested in sweet things, let alone cold ones. Blasphemous, but Andrew isn’t about to complain.)

In the end, Andrew doesn’t have to kick his own cousin out. Nicky gets a text from his husband and makes his excuses all on his own, leaving with sweetness on his breath and the promise of another time tucked close to his chest. The flat is eerily quiet in his wake.

Neil stares at the door for a while, lost in thoughts as Sir purrs from his lap. He looks frazzled, and tired, the movement of his hand in Sir’s fur slow and absentminded. 

“That was a lot,” he says eventually. Andrew levels a careful gaze on him, but Neil just smiles. “I can see how he’d be the person who raised you.”

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. It is a well-known fact that he is nothing like his cousin, physically or otherwise. Neil leans back into the couch, dropping his head sideway so he’s looking at Andrew instead of the door. His hair falls like wild threads of silver around his face and his eyes are blue, blue, blue.

“He’s a good person.”

Andrew doesn’t dignify that with a response, lest he be tempted to say something stupid. He pushes Neil’s face away and stalks towards the balcony instead, snowflakes making knots of his guts as he inhales his first cloud of smoke today.

If only feelings were as easily burnt as lungs.

Andrew has a feeling there wouldn’t be much left of him if he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into Neil and Andrew's life together, and Neil's first meeting with someone else! Finally!!! I don't think I'll write everyone's meeting with him like this, but I really wanted to give Nicky some spotlight because he deserves it.
> 
> If you don't know what Spätzle are, I recommend you look it up and try some yourself - it's a really good German speciality and (apparently?? i've never tried) pretty easy to make, too!
> 
> As I've mentioned before, my writing schedule is unpredictable. If there is anything that you'd like me to delve into in the next chapters, though, do tell! I'm open to suggestions, and if I'm inspired I'll get it done way faster.  
> Kudos and comments are always welcome as well - I don't think I would have even started this addendum to the series if not for the love I got on the first two parts.


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